


All the Way to the Bone

by justkisa



Series: The Boys Who Kiss and Bite [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Multi, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkisa/pseuds/justkisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gonzalo and Dries accompany Marek when he goes to get at tattoo. Dries learns a few things about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Way to the Bone

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Dries & Gonzalo really did go with Marek the last time he got a tattoo. See [here](http://justkisa.tumblr.com/post/116965594733/ghdm0914-tattoo-journey), [here](http://justkisa.tumblr.com/post/116844572393/ghdm0914-at-brandi-enzos-tattoo), and [here](http://justkisa.tumblr.com/post/116687373358/ghdm0914-gonza-dries-accompanied-marek-to-get)
> 
> 2) Let’s just pretend that all of their Italian is actually good enough to converse fluently.

Gonzalo kicks the side of Dries’ foot and says, low, just loud enough to be heard over the buzzing of the tattoo gun, “You’re staring.” 

Dries doesn’t look back at him. He means to. But Marek’s face is turned towards him and his mouth is open, the corners of it tipping up, like he’s about to smile. 

When the tattoo artist had first started, right before he touched the needle to Marek’s skin, Marek had held himself with a certain tension, his limbs arranged in careful, precise lines, as if he was focusing everything in him on holding himself perfectly still. Then the tattoo artist had begun. The buzzing of the tattoo gun had made Dries tense at first, the sound of it louder than he’d thought it be, a hard, harsh hum. But Marek had relaxed, his shoulders slumping, his legs falling open, like the buzz of the needle in and out of his skin was slowly bleeding the tension right out of him. 

Marek’s sprawled across the table now. His knees are bent, one raised and the other resting on the table, his legs spread apart. And his arm (the one not being worked on) is draped across his chest. He keeps sliding his fingers along his necklace, his hand moving slow, his fingertips dragging along his skin and tangling with the chain. 

Marek’s looking at the tattoo artist work, watching the tattoo gun buzz across his skin. And Dries is watching too but he’s watching Marek, watching the way Marek’s face changes with each thrumming stab of the needle, watching the stroke of Marek’s fingertips along his skin. The needle passes over the inside of Marek’s elbow and Marek’s eyes flutter closed and he touches his tongue to his bottom lip. Marek opens his eyes and he smiles a little, open and crooked, his lower lip wet from the slide of his tongue. And the tattoo gun seems very loud, so loud it’s like Dries can feel the harsh hum of it skitter across his skin.

“Dries,” Gonzalo hisses, and kicks his foot again, “You’re staring.” 

And Dries blinks and makes himself look away, makes himself look back at Gonzalo. 

Gonzalo’s staring up at him, eyes wide and dark under the brim of his hat. His lips are pressed together, his mouth a thin, pale slash in the middle of his beard. “So?” Dries says. His mouth is dry and, when he speaks, his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He swallows. “Why else did we come except to watch?” 

Gonzalo’s gaze flickers towards Marek then back to Dries. “Yeah,” he says, “But you’re…” He trails off.

Dries waits but Gonzalo doesn’t say anything else. “I’m what?” Dries says and kicks the toe of Gonzalo’s shoe.

Gonzalo shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s— Never mind.”

“Fine,” Dries says, “Whatever,” and turns back to Marek. 

Marek’s laughing at something the tattoo artist is saying. He tips his head back a little and looks right at Dries. He’s sweating and Dries can see the wet, gleam of it above his upper lip and along the curve of his neck. He smiles at Dries. The tattoo artist lifts the tattoo gun and wipes his cloth along the edge of Marek’s elbow. Marek’s eyes flutter closed. He opens them again when the tattoo artist puts the tattoo gun back to his skin. He’s still looking straight at Dries. And he’s still smiling. It’s the open, crooked smile he gets after a win, when he’s tired but still pumped from the adrenaline of the win. Dries tries to smile back but he feels stuck - over-heated and slow - he can’t shape his mouth into the right shape. Dries licks his lips. And Marek’s smile turns sharp, his mouth stretched over his teeth, which gleam bright-white under the unforgiving harshness of the fluorescent lights.

Dries looks away. But he doesn’t know where to look. He doesn’t want to look back at Gonzalo. He stares at the ground. His left shoe’s coming untied. It doesn’t matter where he looks because he can still hear the tattoo gun, so loud it’s like he’s vibrating with it, like the sound of it is buzzing just under his skin. And he wants to know what it would really feel like on his skin. Wants to know why the plunging of a needle over and over into Marek’s skin seems to make him unspool, to come undone until he’s sprawled loose-limbed and relaxed across the table.

He looks up. Marek’s head is bowed. He’s slid his hand down his chest, away from his necklace, and he’s resting it on his abs, tapping his fingers against the waistband of his pants. 

Dries looks away again. Back at Gonzalo. Gonzalo’s not looking at Marek. He’s staring right at Dries. “What do you think it feels like?” Dries asks and it comes out hushed, his voice cracking.

Gonzalo stares at him for a moment then shrugs. “Dunno,” he says, glancing at Marek, “Ask Marek. He’s the one that keeps coming back for more.” 

Dries looks away. “Yeah,” he says, scrubbing his hand over the nape of his neck, “Right.” He doesn’t, though, just goes back to watching - to wondering.

There’s not that much left to watch. After a couple of minutes, the tattoo artist lifts the tattoo gun from Marek’s arm. He wipes his cloth across Marek’s skin then he straightens up and turns the tattoo gun off. It’s over. The sudden silence is a jolt. Dries had become accustomed to the unrelenting buzzing. 

The tattoo artist is murmuring something to Marek. Dries can’t make it out. Dries watches him clean Marek up and carefully apply a bandage over the new dark lines decorating Marek’s skin. Then he gets up, pushes his cart to the side, says something quiet to Marek, and walks away. 

Marek touches his fingertips to the edge of the bandage then he sits up. He moves slowly. Pushing himself up onto his elbows first then sitting up all the way. He turns towards Dries, shifting so his legs are dangling off the edge of the table. He looks dazed and he blinks a few times, like he’s trying to bring Dries into focus. Then he smiles at Dries, slow and open, and, this time, it’s a little easier to smile back. “So,” Dries says, “You’re, I mean, everything’s…” 

“Yeah,” Marek says, slow, his voice raw and cracking, “M’good.” 

“That’s—that’s good,” Dries says. He pushes off the counter and steps closer. “Do you— Is there anything you need?”

Marek shakes his head. “Nah, not right now. Maybe—maybe in a minute.” 

Dries steps a little closer. “Can I, ah, um…”

Marek smiles a little. “What?”

Dries leans against the table next to Marek’s hip. “What—what does it—“ He stops then starts again because, if he’s going to ask, he wants to ask now, while Marek’s smiling at him, his expression soft and open. “What,” he says, touching Marek’s arm, just above his elbow. He runs his fingertips up Marek’s arm along the complicated tangle of ink writ across Marek’s skin. “Does it feel like it?”

Marek turns towards him and curls his hand around Dries’ wrist. His hand is warm and a little sweaty. He pulls Dries’ hand away from his arm and turns Dries’ arm so Dries’ palm is facing up. He lets go of Dries’ wrist and drags his fingertips along Dries’ arm. Just above Dries’ wrist he digs his fingernails into Dries’ skin then jerks them down to his wrist. Pain flares, hot and fast, across Dries’ skin, there then gone, but it leaves burning, tingling trails along his skin. “Oh,” he says and it’s barely a sound, more of a shuddering gasp, “ _Oh_.” Marek curls his hand around Dries’ hand, not holding him in place, just steadying him, his fingers warm and firm around Dries’ fingers. Dries could jerk his hand away if he wanted to but he doesn’t. 

There’s a clattering behind him, chair legs scraping across the floor. “Marek,” Gonzalo says and his voice is hard the way it is when he talks to opponents on the pitch, “What the fuck?”

Marek glances over Dries’ shoulder then looks back at Dries. He slides his hand under Dries’ arm and scrapes his thumbnail across Dries’ wrist. Pain blooms again, sharp and bright. “Sort of like that,” Marek says, low and soft, just for Dries, pressing his thumb against Dries’ wrist, “but…more.” Dries can feel the paths Marek’s nails took across his skin. They throb hot and insistent under the press of Marek’s thumb but he doesn’t want to pull away from Marek’s touch, he wants—

“Marek,” Gonzalo says, clipped and sharp, his voice hard in a way Dries’ never heard it, “Enough.” Then he’s there at Dries’ back, reaching around him, wrapping his hand around Dries’ wrist, and pulling it out of Marek’s hand. Marek holds his hands up and lets Gonzalo pull Dries away. 

Gonzalo steps back, taking Dries with him, and Dries stumbles on his loose shoelace. Gonzalo wraps his arm around his waist and steadies him. Dries leans back into the solid wall of Gonzalo’s chest because maybe he’s regained his footing but he still feels like everything is tilting and Gonzalo is solid as a rock. Gonzalo’s still holding Dries’ wrist in his hand and he runs his thumb along the still throbbing marks left by Marek’s nails. His hand is cool and the stroke of his thumb is so light, barely a touch. It feels like cool water poured on sunburned skin. And Dries shivers. Gonzalo drops his wrist, lets go of him, and steps back. Dries sways. Suddenly unmoored. “Enough,” Gonzalo says again, but his voice’s gone soft, “Let’s just go.”

They can’t just go. Not really. First they have to take a bunch more pictures with all the tattoo guys. Also Marek has to put his shirt back on. Dries does it all. Goes through the motions. Smiles when he’s supposed to smile. But everything feels slow, like he’s swimming in honey. And his wrist throbs, not with pain, exactly, but he can feel every warm, raw centimeter of each scratch.

They eventually make it to the door and say their last goodbyes. Marek shares an overly complicated looking handshake with his tattoo artist and promises to call him soon about more work. Then they go out into the night. 

It’s a clear night but cool. Dries rolls the sleeves of his shirt down. His fingertips skate along the scratches on his wrist and something warm prickles over him, like flecks of hot ash falling on his skin. He turns his wrist up and looks at the scratches for the first time. He can just see them in the light of the street lamps, faint red lines, evenly spaced along the inside of his wrist. He tugs his shirt sleeve over them and lets his arms swing at his side. 

It’s a short walk to Gonzalo’s car. Dries gets into the back seat with Marek. Gonzalo glances at him over the top of the car, his mouth open, like he’s going to object. Dries looks away and ducks into the car. 

When Gonzalo turns on the car, music blares, loud enough to make the windows vibrate. “Fuck, Pipita,” Marek says, “Turn it down. It’s late. They’ll be able to hear that shit two blocks over.” 

Gonzalo grumbles something about it _not being shit, you’ve no fucking taste, Marek_ but he does turn the music down. Dries likes the music Gonzalo always has on in his car. He doesn’t understand any of it but it makes Gonzalo smile.

Gonzalo starts down the street. Dries leans his head against the window and watches the street slip by, the lights of the still open shops and restaurants blurring together into streaks of light as Gonzalo picks up speed. 

It’s warm in the car and Dries pushes his sleeves back up. This time, when his fingertips brush over the scratches, he touches them deliberately, traces each line with his fingertips. He presses down, lightly at first, then harder, until pain blooms along his skin, warm and itchy, almost like a sunburn. 

“I’m sorry,” Marek says.

Dries looks over at him. His head is tipped back against the seat and his face is turned towards Dries. The light from the street flickers over his face painting it in ever-changing patterns of shadow and light. “For what?” Dries says.

“For, you know…” Marek touches his fingertips to his own wrist. 

Dries pulls his hand away from his wrist. In his haste, his fingernails scrape over the scratches. “You don’t,” he says, “It’s—it’s fine.”

“ _Hmm,_ ” Marek says, smiling a little, “Okay.”

“Do you—” Dries says then stops. The tingling prickle from the scrape of his fingernails across the scratches is fading. He almost presses his fingers back against his wrist. He curls his hand into a fist and digs his fingernails into his palm

“What?” Marek says.

“Do you like it?” Dries says and it comes out hoarse and hushed, “The, you know, do you like that feeling, getting, uh…”

Marek looks away and he’s quiet for long enough that Dries is about to say, _never mind, man_. Then Marek turns back towards him. He reaches over and curls his hand around Dries’ wrist. He drags his thumb in a long, slow sweep along the scratches he’d left. Dries shifts a little. Not sure if he’s trying press closer or squirm away. “Did you,” Marek says, he’s still stroking Dries’ wrist, dragging his thumb up and down the scratches, “like this, Dries?” He presses his thumb against Dries’ wrist. “How about this?” And his voice has gone low and rasping and his words scrape along Dries’ skin. 

“I—“ He says and he can’t get any more words out. Doesn’t know what he wants to say. Marek’s touch is so light, the press of his thumb isn’t _enough_ , isn’t— There’s something aching in his chest, something twisting and sharp, and it makes it hard to breathe - to speak. 

“Or maybe,” Marek says, and he’s closer now, shifting across the seat, until he’s right next to Dries, “This,” and he digs his thumbnail into Dries’ skin and scrapes it hard across the scratches.

Pain bursts like fireworks, skittering across his skin. “ _Oh_ ,” Dries says, the sounds dragged out of him, scraping their way up his throat, “ _oh_.” 

“Marek,” Gonzalo says, hard and sharp, like a warning, “ _Marek_ ,” and Dries jerks. Marek clamps his hand down hard around Dries’ wrist. Dries looks up. He can see Gonzalo’s reflection in the rearview mirror and it’s like Gonzalo’s staring straight at him. 

“You didn’t,” Marek says, like Gonzalo hadn’t spoken, “answer my question.” He loosens his grip on Dries’ wrist. “Do,” he says, and runs his fingernails over the scratches, “you like this?” He curls his other hand over Dries’ knee and squeezes.

Dries squirms. “I—“ Marek drags his hand up Dries’ thigh. He stops right at the crease of Dries’ hip and presses his fingertips to the seam of Dries’ pants. His knuckles brush against the inside of Dries’ thigh. 

“C’mon,” Marek says, digging his fingernails into Dries’ wrist, “tell me.” 

Marek’s hand is warm and heavy on his thigh and he’s stroking his fingers along the the seam of Dries’ pants. The press of his fingernails is a sharp, prickling counterpoint to the slow, warm strokes of his fingers. Dries feels over-warm, his skin too tight. He wants to push up, to squirm until Marek’s hand slips just a little farther up. “I, _Marek_.” 

“Yes?” Marek says and moves his hand up Dries’ thigh until his pinkie finger is just barely pressed to Dries’ crotch. Dries does move then, squirming down until Marek’s fingers are jammed against the bottom of the seam that runs across his crotch. 

Marek laughs, low and soft, and Dries opens his mouth to say _fuck you_ but Marek grinds his nails into Dries’ wrist and what Dries says is, “ _Please_.” Because the spirals of bright, sparkling pain are even better with Marek’s hand pressed between his legs. He wants to rut against Marek’s fingers and chase that shimmering feeling. It’s like staring straight into the sun. It’s too much - too bright - but you can’t look away.

“Marek,” Gonzalo says again. And there’s something about how he says it, like Marek’s name is a mouthful of shattered glass and spitting it out is tearing him apart, that Dries thinks he should pay attention to. But he can’t think past the warmth of Marek’s hand between his legs and the press of Marek’s nails into his skin. He wants _more_ , wants—

He fumbles his hand over Marek’s. “Marek,” he says, pulling at Marek’s hand until it’s pressed across his crotch, until he can push his hips up, push his dick against the warm splay of Marek’s fingers, “ _Marek_.” Marek doesn’t laugh this time. He lets Dries push up against his hand and twists his nails against Dries’ skin.

Then the car comes to a sudden, shuddering stop and Marek lets go of him. “We’re here,” Gonzalo says, and then he’s gone, out of the car. He slams the door so hard the whole car shakes. 

It’s like being doused with ice-cold water.

“Fuck,” Dries says, scrubbing his hand over his face, “ _Fuck_.” 

Marek laughs. Dries reaches over and smacks his thigh. “Shut up.” 

“It’ll be all right, Dries,” Marek says, “Just get out of the car.”

Dries doesn’t quite believe him but he reaches for the door handle. He pushes the door open and gets out of the car. It’s cool outside and he shivers a little when the night air hits his overheated skin. Gonzalo’s standing not that far away, his back to Dries, his hands in fists at his side. 

Dries closes the car door and Gonzalo turns towards him. It’s too dark in Gonzalo’s driveway to make out his expression. “Pipa,” Dries says and it comes out a breathy rasp. He swallows and says it again, “Pipa.” 

Gonzalo steps forward until they’re toe to toe. “Dries,” he says and it sounds like a question but there’s also something aching - something broken in it. Dries answers it by lurching up and kissing him. His forehead smacks into the brim of Gonzalo’s hat. It tumbles off his head and hits the ground with a soft thud. Gonzalo’s laughing when Dries kisses him, mouth open, lips still humming with it. 

Dries drops back down onto his heels, or tries to, but Gonzalo fists his hands in Dries’ shirt and hauls him back up for another kiss. It’s not great. All teeth and too much spit. But it has a hungry, desperate quality which makes Dries dig his fingers into Gonzalo’s arms and hold on tight. “Dries,” Gonzalo says, after, “ _Dries_ , fuck.” His hands are still fisted in Dries shirt. Dries wants to kiss him again. Wants to push himself against him. 

He doesn’t but only because Marek says, from just beyond Gonzalo’s shoulder, “I think, maybe, we should go inside.” Then he drops Gonzalo’s hat back on his head. It slides down covering Gonzalo’s face.

Gonzalo grumbles something in Spanish then he lets go of Dries and pushes it back up. Dries smiles a little. “He’s right,” he says because he is, because they’re in _Gonzalo’s driveway_. 

Gonzalo smiles back. “Yeah,” he says, “Okay.”

When they get inside, Gonzalo flicks on the hallway light and Dries blinks at the sudden brightness. He’s not sure what to do, here in the light, Marek’s scratches throbbing on his wrists, the taste of Gonzalo’s kiss in his mouth. 

They’re, the three of them, just standing there staring at each other. “So,” Dries says and the same time Gonzalo says, “Uh, so…” And Marek tips his head back and laughs. 

Gonzalo kicks Marek’s toe and says, “What the fuck is so funny?” 

Marek shakes his head and says, with a smile, “You sorry fuckers.” 

“Hey,” Dries says at the same time as Gonzalo which starts Marek laughing again. 

He’s still laughing when he turns and starts down the hall. “C’mon,” he says, “Stop standing there fucking around. Let’s go.”

“Should we…” Dries says, because Marek’s already disappeared into Gonzalo’s living room.

“Yeah,” Gonzalo says, tugging on Dries’ shirtsleeve, “C’mon.” 

When they turn into the living room, Marek says, “Hey, Dries. Dries, come here.”

Dries glances over at Gonzalo. Gonzalo puts his hand on the small of Dries’ back and gives him a push. Dries stumbles forward. Gonzalo comes with him, his hand still splayed across Dries’ back. When Dries comes to a stop in front of Marek, Gonzalo doesn’t let him go, he slides his hand along Dries’ back and curls it around Dries’ hip. 

Marek smiles and reaches out to take Dries’ wrist. His fingers are cool and he doesn’t press on the scratches just holds Dries’ wrist loosely in the circle of his fingers. “In the car,” he says, “you would have let me do anything, wouldn’t you? Let me just rub your dick through your pants until you came.” He’s staring right at Dries. His voice is low, his tone matter-of-fact, like he’s just talking to Dries about a play on the pitch. But Dries can’t look away. “You would’ve just come right in your pants, for me, wouldn’t you’ve?” 

“I—“ Dries says. He would have. Anything for more of that tantalizing push-pull of pleasure and pain. He wants to lean into Marek. Wants to step back. Doesn’t know what he wants. “ _Marek_.” 

Gonzalo squeezes his hip and he’s closer now, right behind Dries, so close Dries can feel the heat of him at his back. But he doesn’t say anything.

Marek digs his fingernails into Dries’ wrist. And Dries can’t control the sound he makes, the breathy, gasping hitch of his breath. “You would have,” Marek says and it’s not a question anymore. “Would’ve let me get your dick out of your pants, would’ve let me jerk you off right there in the backseat of Pipita’s car. Pipita squirming and mad in the front seat because it was me touching you and not him.” 

“I,” Dries says, and he’s leaning in towards Marek now, pulled towards Marek’s words like a moth to a flame, “Yeah.” And Gonzalo makes a low, choked sound. He slides his arm across Dries’ waist and pulls Dries back against him. “I would’ve,” Dries says. 

Marek smiles. “And now? Here?”

“Now?” Dries says.

“Now, would you?”

“What?” Dries says, “You gonna jerk me off, now?” Gonzalo laughs a little. Right in Dries’ ear. The sound of it is warm and humming along his skin.

Marek squeezes his wrist. “Nah,” he says. He reaches out and fists his other hand in Dries’ t-shirt. He drags it up then puts his hand on Dries’ stomach. “I was thinking, “ he says, pushing his hand up Dries’ stomach, pulling his t-shirt up, “About doing something else.” He drags his nails along Dries’ ribs and Dries shudders. “Would you like that?” 

Gonzalo presses against Dries’ back and tightens his grip around Dries’ waist. And Dries wants to rub up against him. Wants whatever Marek’s offering. He’s not sure he even cares what it is. He just _wants_. “I,” he says. He curls his fingers around Gonzalo’s arm. “Uh.”

Marek pushes his hand up higher and skates his nails across Dries’ nipple. Dries’ breath catches in his throat. He digs his fingers into Gonzalo’s arm. “ _Oh_.” Marek smiles and does it again. Harder. “M-Marek, _fuck_.” 

“So,” Marek says, “Do you want to?” He’s rubbing his thumb back and forth over Dries’ nipple, scraping the edge of his nail along Dries’ skin. And Dries would say yes just to get him to keep doing that.

“Pipa?” he says. 

“Yeah?” Gonzalo says but Dries isn’t talking to him. Not really.

Marek rolls his eyes. “Of course.” 

Dries smiles. “All right, then,” he says, “Yeah.”

Marek smiles. He pinches Dries’ nipple then slides his hand down Dries’ chest and hooks it into the front of his pants. “Well,” he says, tugging on Dries’ wrist, “C’mere then.” 

Dries would go to him but Gonzalo won’t let go of him. 

Marek huffs a little. “I’m trying to get him naked here. A little help, maybe?” 

Dries laughs. “C’mon, Pipa, don’t you want me naked?” Gonzalo makes a rude noise and bites Dries, quick and sharp, just under his ear. “Is that a yes or a no?” Dries says and it comes out just a little shaky. 

Gonzalo lets go of him. But only for a second. He slides his hands up under Dries’ shirts. “Guess that’s a yes,” Dries says and Gonzalo pinches him. Then he starts pushing Dries’ shirts up. Marek smiles and starts helping him.

Between the two of them they get his shirts (and his hat) off in short order. They hit a bit of snag when they try to get his pants and underwear off because he’s still wearing his shoes. And Dries has to laugh at the pair of them bent over glaring at his shoes. It gets him two very dirty looks. He just smiles and kicks off his shoes. He’s naked shortly thereafter. Marek, in particular, looks pretty smug about it. 

Marek straightens up, reaches out, and curls his hands around Dries’ wrists. “C’mere.” 

Gonzalo slides his hands along Dries’ hips. His hands are warm and big. Dries likes the feel of them on his skin. Marek rolls his eyes and tugs on Dries’ wrists. “You’ll like this,” he says, “Let him go.”

As much as Dries kind of likes Gonzalo’s grabby possessiveness, he likes deciding where to go for himself more so he says, “What about me? Will I like it?” 

Marek gives him a slow once-over. Then he smiles and says, “You already do.”

There’s not a lot Dries can say to that so he steps forward, and says, “Let’s go then,” and Gonzalo lets him go.

Marek steps them back until he runs into the couch. He sits down, tugging Dries down with him. Dries ends up tumbled over Marek’s lap. He straightens himself up, using Marek’s shoulders to steady himself, so that he’s settled astride Marek’s thighs. The rough material of the couch digging into his knees is an interesting contrast to the slippery-smooth fabric of Marek’s track-pants rubbing along his thighs. He almost wants to rock his hips and feel the fabric push and pull against his skin. Instead he says, “So, now what?” 

Marek settles his hands along the top of Dries’ thighs and smiles. “Now,” he says, “We’re going to turn you around so you can see Pipita.” 

“Okay,” Dries says. 

It takes few moments, and, maybe, Dries elbows Marek in the face a couple of times, but they eventually manage it. Dries’ is still astride Marek’s thighs, but now his back is pressed to Marek’s front, and Marek’s hands are resting on his thighs. When he’s settled, he finally looks up at Gonzalo. The look on Gonzalo’s face makes him want to arch his back, to offer himself up so Gonzalo can look his fill. 

Marek laughs softly. He slides his hand along Dries’ stomach. “You like Pipita looking at you,” he says. His fingertips are just nudging against Dries’ dick in a light tease of a touch. “You’re getting off just at the way he stares at you, aren’t you?” 

“ _Ah_ ,” Dries says, and he looks straight at Gonzalo, “ _Mmm,_ yeah. I—“ And Gonzalo makes this choked, rough sound and Dries does arch his back then, pushing up and showing himself off for Gonzalo. 

“Fuck,” Gonzalo says, low and hoarse, “Dries, _fuck_.” He takes two quick steps forward and then he’s right there in front of them, close enough for Dries to touch.

Marek shifts under Dries, spreading his legs, which forces Dries’ legs open wider until he’s splayed over Marek’s lap, thighs spread wide. “You like that,” Marek says, “Huh, Pipita? Having him naked and spread out for you to see.” 

Gonzalo licks his lips. He flexes his hands like he wants to touch Dries but he doesn’t. And Dries’ doesn’t understand because he’d been all over Dries just minutes ago, his hands sliding across Dries skin like Dries belonged to him. He wants that again. Wants Gonzalo to slide his hands along the inside of his thighs, wants him wrap them around his dick. 

“You know what I think?” Marek says. He’s moving his fingers up and down, brushing his fingertips along the side of Dries’ dick in slow, teasing strokes. It’s maddening. Dries doesn’t know whether to squirm and beg for more or ask him to stop because it’s not a touch, not anything really, and it’s driving him crazy.

“What?” Gonzalo says and it comes out hoarse and strangled. He doesn’t look at Marek though, just keeps staring straight at Dries. 

“I think,” Marek says, “You should get on your knees and show him how much you like it.” 

“Dries,” Gonzalo says. He steps closer, right in between Marek’s thighs, and Dries wants to reach out and grab him, to pull him down. “You want that?”

Dries nods. “Yeah.” He arches up, desperate to be closer, desperate for anything Gonzalo will give him. Marek has to clamp his hands on Dries thighs to keep him in place on his lap. “Pipa, _Pipa,_ please.” 

“All right,” Gonzalo says and he drops down onto his knees. He skims his hand along Dries’ thigh. He stops at the crease of Dries’ thigh and rests his hand there. “So you want me to suck your dick?” He’s dragging his thumb in slow strokes along Dries’ inner thigh. “Huh, Dries?” 

“C’mon, Pipa,” Dries says. It comes out a whine but he doesn’t care.

Gonzalo smiles a little. “I liked it when you said please.”

“ _Please_ ,” Dries says because he’ll say anything, he doesn’t care, as long as Gonzalo puts his mouth, or even his hand, on his dick. “ _Please_.”

Gonzalo laughs a little but he’s looking at Dries like he wants to devour him whole. “Yeah, okay,” he says. He gives Dries’ thigh a squeeze then lets go of him. He spits into his palm then he wraps his hand around Dries’ dick. He strokes Dries slow and a little rough. The spit isn’t really enough and his palm’s almost too dry but Dries’ doesn’t care. It’s good and he wants more, wants—

“Pipa,” he says, impatient for the rest, for Gonzalo’s mouth on him, “C’mon.”

Gonzalo smiles. “Say please again.”

“Please,” Dries says, “ _C’mon_.” 

Gonzalo curls his hand around the base of Dries’ dick, knuckles nudging against his balls, and lowers his head. Marek huffs. Dries can feel it, a warm, moist gust of air against his neck. “For Christ’s sake, Pipita, take off your fucking hat first.”

Gonzalo lifts his head and Dries wants to elbow Marek really fucking hard. Gonzalo smiles then, with the hand not wrapped around Dries’ dick, he reaches up and turns his hat around so the brim’s facing backwards. “ _Christ_ ,” Marek says and Dries giggles. Gonzalo winks at him, which makes him giggle harder, then Gonzalo lowers his head and Dries isn’t giggling anymore. 

Gonzalo doesn’t tease, doesn’t lick at Dries’ dick, just pushes his mouth down Dries’ dick to edge of his fingers and sucks. “Pipa,” he gasps out, “Pipa, _shit_.” And Gonzalo gives him more. 

“Is he good?” Marek says, right in his ear, “ _Hmm_ , you like that?”

“Y-yeah.” Dries can barely get it out. “ _Fuck_ , Marek, yeah.”

Marek laughs a little. “You want some more?” 

Dries doesn’t really know what Marek means. Can’t think past the warm, wet suction of Gonzalo’s mouth on his dick. But more of - whatever - sounds good, sounds even better. “Y-yeah. Okay.”

“All right,” Marek says but he doesn’t do anything, not really, just slides his hand along Dries’ thigh. It’s not enough to distract him Gonzalo and the wet perfection of his mouth on Dries’ dick. Then Marek digs his fingernails into the middle of Dries’ thigh and jerks them, quick and hard, along his inner thigh. Pain burns and sparks along his skin. He shoves up into Gonzalo’s mouth like the pleasure of it can soothe the pain but it just sets it alight. 

Marek wraps his other arm around Dries’ waist pulls him back against him. “Ah, ah,” he says, “You have to stay still for Pipita.” And Gonzalo takes his mouth off of Dries and looks up at him. “Isn’t that right, Pipita?” Marek says. 

Gonzalo smiles. His mouth is wet and red and Dries wants it back on him. “Yeah,” Gonzalo says, his voice gone rough, “Hold still.” His hand is still wrapped around Dries’ dick and he’s stroking him almost idly. It’s too light, not _enough_ , and it makes him feel achy and desperate. 

“Can you do that?” Marek says. He skates his fingertips along the scratches he’d left on Dries’ thighs. “Can you hold still for us?” 

“I—“ Dries says. He feels scattered. Torn open. Like Marek’s nails ripped open more than just his skin. 

Marek presses down on the scratches and pain shimmers and skates along Dries’ skin. “If you can,” Marek says, “You can have more. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Y-yeah,” Dries says because he knows that much, because he wants so much _more_. 

“You’re going to hold still,” Marek says, “Aren’t you? Going to be good for us?”

“I—“ Dries says, “Yeah. Yeah. Okay,” and he’s not sure if he can do it but he’s desperate to try. 

“Good,” Marek says. Gonzalo lowers his head and puts his mouth back on him. And Dries holds himself so still. “That’s it,” Marek says, “You’re doing so good.” Then he sets his fingernails against Dries’ skin and Dries thinks _still, still, still_. And, when Marek scratches him, he’s still thinking it, words ringing in his head like bell, _still, still, still_. Pain bursts across his skin but he does it, he stays so still. “That’s it,” Marek says. He loosens his hold on Dries’ waist. “That’s it.” He slides his hand across Dries’ stomach and rests it on his thigh. “Just—“ And he jerks his nails across Dries’ other thigh. And Dries stays still. “You’re being so good, aren’t you?” Marek says, “So good for me and Pipita.” And Dries can’t speak because all he has in his head is, _still, still, still_. 

It gets easier and easier to stay still. Until he doesn’t have to think about it at all. Until he slips into a place where everything in him is so still and all he has to do is let the pain and pleasure wash over him. All he has to do is take it and take it and take it until he doesn’t know one from the other. 

When, instead of setting his nails to unmarked skin, Marek rakes his nails across some of the scratches, everything blurs in front of Dries. He makes a sound he barely recognizes as his own. He blinks and his eyes prickle like he’s crying. Maybe he is crying. He’s not sure. “Dries,” Marek says, “ _Dries_.” He wants an answer but Dries can’t make his mouth move.

“Dries.” That’s Gonzalo. That’s Gonzalo and he’s stopped. Dries’ skin is humming. Tingling like fireworks are exploding under his skin. But, without Gonzalo’s mouth or hand on him or Marek’s nails digging into his skin, he feels achingly adrift. It’s a new kind of desperation. He doesn’t like it.

Dries blinks again, then again, trying to bring Gonzalo into focus. “ _Hmm?_.” 

“Dries,” Gonzalo says, “Dries, are you okay?” 

Dries wants to nod but his head feels too heavy to move. “ _Mmm_.” He needs Gonzalo to touch him again. “Y-yeah,” he says. His tongue feels thick and clumsy in his mouth. “Why’d you stop?” 

“You don’t want to?” Gonzalo says. 

“No,” Dries says, “No. Pipa, _please_.”

“Okay,” Gonzalo says, “ _Shh_ , okay.” He turns his head and presses a kiss to some of the scratches. Dries’ skin is so warm that Gonzalo’s mouth feels cool. The kiss leaves a wet mark on Dries’ skin and, when the air hits it, he shivers. 

Gonzalo does it again. He presses his open mouth to Dries’ thigh and drags his tongue along the scratches. “Oh, _oh_ ,” Dries says. Gonzalo lifts his head and smiles. The wet trails left by his mouth, his tongue, are too cool on Dries’ heated skin. He shudders. “Pipa, _Pipa_.” And he doesn’t know if he’s asking for more or—

Gonzalo curls his fingers back around Dries’ dick. He presses one more kiss to Dries’ thigh then he turns his head and rubs his cheek along Dries thigh. His beard scrapes along the scratches like sandpaper. Pain blossoms, warm and prickling, along Dries’ skin. And he can’t— “Pipa.” 

Gonzalo takes Dries’ dick back into his mouth. He sucks hard and Marek digs his fingernails into Dries’ thigh. And Dries comes like that, caught between the wet-warm pull of Gonzalo’s mouth and the stinging press of Marek’s nails. 

When he’s done, he’s still shaking, still feels like all of him - inside and out - is trembling. He breathes, in and out, and it quivers through him, makes his chest ache. Marek is stroking the tops of his thighs, slow, warm sweeps of his open palms across Dries’ skin, and murmuring something low and soothing against Dries’ neck. He’s warm and solid at Dries’ back and slowly, _slowly_ , Dries relaxes against him. His trembling dies away and a stillness, a euphoric kind of languor, settles over him. 

Gonzalo’s staring up at him. His mouth is wet with come and spit. Dries tries to smile at him. “Pipa,” he says, “Pipa,” and Gonzalo’s name, _Pipa_ , it feels thick and sticky in his mouth like honey. 

Gonzalo wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. Then he smiles a little and says, “Yeah?”

Dries doesn’t know. Not really. He tries to smile again. “Dunno,” he says, “ _Mmm,_ , just…” 

Gonzalo smiles up at him. “It’s okay, Dries.” 

“I want—” Dries says. And he’s not sure what. He’s warm. Surfeit with a kind of pleasure reminds him of the ache that settles into your body after a hard win. Maybe it hurts but you don’t care. But he wants _more_. He wants Gonzalo, and Marek too, to feel like this.

“What, Dries?” Gonzalo says. 

“You should,” he says, “Pipa, c’mere.” He holds out his hand. His limbs feel heavy and, when he moves, he feels clumsy and slow. 

Gonzalo doesn’t take Dries’ hand but he does stand up. He’s hard. Dries can see the way his dick is pushing at his fly. He wants to touch, to pull at Gonzalo’s clothes until he can see his dick, until he can get his hands on it. And Gonzalo’s _right_ there, so he does. He reaches out and fumbles his hand over Gonzalo’s fly. 

“ _Shit_ , Dries,” Gonzalo says. He sounds almost pained. Dries fits his hand along the thick length of Gonzalo’s dick and rubs. “ _Dries_.” Gonzalo clamps his hand down on top of Dries’ hand. 

“C’mon, Pipa,” Dries says, wiggling his hand in Gonzalo’s hold, “Let me see, c’mon.” 

Marek laughs a little. “Yeah, c’mon, Pipita, get your dick out for him.”

Gonzalo flips Marek off with his free hand and pulls Dries’ hand off his dick with his other hand. Dries is about to object but then Gonzalo starts undoing his fly and Dries shuts his mouth. Gonzalo doesn’t take his pants off. He just gets his dick out. And, really, that’s all Dries wanted. 

Gonzalo curls his hand around his dick. “There,” he says, his voice low and a little hoarse, “Is this what you wanted,” He’s touching himself, stroking his dick with quick, rough jerks. 

Dries wants to lean forward and put his mouth on Gonzalo. He wants to lick at him, at his fingers, his dick, wants to get the taste of him in his mouth. He wants to open his mouth and just let Gonzalo push his dick inside. Wants to let him fuck his mouth. Wants him to come in his mouth. On his face. 

He leans forward. Gonzalo clamps his free hand down on Dries’ shoulder and pushes him back. “Don’t,” he says, “Just—“ He’s working his hand faster on his dick. “ _Fuck_ , just—“ Dries leans forward, straining against Gonzalo’s hold, because he doesn’t understand, he wants—

Marek curls his arm around Dries’ waist and pulls him back. “Easy,” he murmurs against Dries’ neck, “Just let him look at you.” Dries looks up at Gonzalo, at the desperate, wanting way he’s staring at Dries, and relaxes back against Marek. “There you go,” Marek says, “That’s what he wants. Just to look at you. You look so fucking good like this, Dries, all marked up and fucked out. Look at how much Pipita likes you like this, _hmm_.” 

Gonzalo digs his fingers into Dries’ shoulder. He makes a low, grunting sound and comes. Most of it gets on his fingers but some of it gets on Dries, streaking, wet and warm, along his chest and stomach. “Dries,” Gonzalo says, then something rough and low in Spanish. His grip on Dries’ shoulder goes slack and he smiles, slow and wide, at Dries. He slides his hand up Dries’ neck and cups Dries’ cheek. “ _Dries._ ” He strokes his thumb along Dries’ cheekbone. 

His palm is uncomfortably warm and sweaty but Dries turns his face into it anyway and smiles at him. “Hey, Pipa.” Gonzalo pats his cheek then he ruffles Dries’ hair and lets go of him.

Dries is content, for a moment, to lay there, loose and relaxed, across Marek’s lap, staring up at Gonzalo. He’s a little too warm and sticky with sweat and come. The scratches on his thighs throb with a warm, persistent ache. He doesn’t want to move. He feels lazily content on Marek’s lap, held in the circle of Marek’s arm. 

He can feel Marek pressed against his back, the solid strength of his chest. He’s hard, Dries can feel that too, the solid line of his dick pressing against Dries’ ass. He should do something about that because Marek had given exactly what he wanted when he hadn’t even really known what he wanted. And he doesn’t really want to move but he wants to give Marek something too. Wants to make him feel good.

“Marek,” he says, trying, and mostly failing, to sit up a little, “Marek.”

“Yeah?” Marek says.

“I want to,” Dries says and manages to push himself upright. Kind of. Marek has to put his hands on his hips to steady him.

“Easy,” Marek says, squeezing his hips, “Dries.”

“Marek, I want to—“ Dries squirms a bit. He wants to turn himself around. But he still  
feels hazy and slow and it makes him clumsy. 

He tries to scramble his way around and he almost falls. Gonzalo catches him. “Whoa, Dries,” he says and pushes him upright. It’s inelegant and he’s pretty sure Gonzalo’s laughing at him but now he’s facing Marek. 

“Marek,” he says, sliding his hands down Marek’s chest, “I want to—“ He scoots back a little. Gonzalo’s hands are still on his back and he trusts him to keep him steady on Marek’s thighs. He curls his fingers into Marek’s waistband. “Can I?”

Marek nods jerkily. “Yeah,” he says, “Okay.”

Dries drags Marek’s pants down just enough to get his dick out and get his hand around it. Marek’s quiet when Dries’ gets his hand on him but Dries can see his breath hitch. He doesn’t tease or anything just jerks Marek rough and quick. He pushes Marek’s shirt up and rests his other hand on his stomach. Marek’s panting now, his breath coming in shuddering gasps, and his stomach dips and jumps under Dries’ palm. He’s biting at his lower lip, worrying it with his teeth, turning it red and wet. 

Dries leans in, thinking to lick and soothe, to kiss his open mouth. Marek turns his head and Dries’ mouth skates along his cheek. He rests his forehead against Marek’s temple. He presses a kiss to the corner of Marek’s eye and Marek makes a shivery sound. Dries presses another kiss along his cheekbone then bites along his jaw, scrapes his teeth along the bone. Marek makes a desperate, whining sound and comes. Dries strokes him through it, gets his fingers sticky with Marek’s come. When Marek’s done, he wipes his hand on Marek’s stomach and presses a kiss to the corner of Marek’s mouth. 

Marek turns and catches Dries’ mouth with his. He doesn’t kiss Dries, not really, just presses his open mouth to Dries’. For a moment, they breathe together, mouthes sliding against each other, then Marek pulls away. He curls his fingers around Dries’s shoulders and pushes him back against Gonzalo’s hands. He smiles a little. “Go on with Pipita, now,” he says, voice gone low and rasping, “Dries, okay?”

“What?” Dries says, “Marek—“

Marek smiles and leans in to kiss him, light and close-mouthed. “Go on,” he says, “Let Pipita take care of you.” 

“Okay,” Dries says, “If— Okay.” He lets Gonzalo and Marek manhandle him up until he’s standing. Everything aches as he stands up. He feels a little unsteady on his feet. 

“C’mon,” Gonzalo says. He has his hands curved along Dries’ shoulders. 

Dries clutches at Gonzalo’s shirt, trying to steady himself. “Where?” he says. 

Gonzalo smiles a little. “Bathroom. Just going to clean you a little.” 

“Okay,” Dries says.

Gonzalo’s downstairs bathroom is all white tiles, marble countertops, and mirrors. It’s bright and gleaming. Dries always wants to shield his eyes when he goes in. Gonzalo backs him up against the sink and says, “Put your hands on my shoulders.”

Dries sets his hands on Gonzalo’s shoulders and Gonzalo lifts him up. “ _Pipa_ , what the—“ Gonzalo laughs and sets him down on the edge of the sink. The counter is really fucking cold. Dries pokes Gonzalo’s shoulder. “What the fuck?”

Gonzalo smiles. “I told you. I’m going to clean you up.”

Dries tugs on Gonzalo’s shirt. “The counter is cold as fuck. And why am I the only one who ended up naked. Next time everybody is getting naked.” 

Gonzalo’s mouth turns down. “Next time?”

Dries lets go of his shirt. “Yeah,” he says, “I mean, if you want?”

Gonzalo smiles again. “Yeah,” he says, “Okay. Next time I promise to get naked.”

“Good,” Dries says, “And next time I want to suck your dick. Because I really wanted to.” He had. Like a lot. Gonzalo laughs. Dries kicks him. “Fuck you,” he says, “Now I’m not going to.”

Gonzalo laughs some more and says, “Yeah. You are.”

“M’not.”

“Uh-huh,” Gonzalo says, ‘You were all—“ He pouts exaggeratedly. “About not getting to a second ago.”

Dries kicks him again. “Shut-up.”

Gonzalo rolls his eyes and reaches over to grab a wash cloth off the bar along the wall. Then he reaches around Dries and turns on the water. After he shuts off the water, he taps Dries’ knee and says, “C’mon. Let me…”

Dries spreads his legs. Gonzalo just stares at him for a moment. The wet cloth in his hand is dripping all over the floor. Dries looks down at his thighs. It’s the first time he’s really looked at them. They’re a mess. Covered in scratches. No pattern just slanting red lines scattered all over his thighs. Also there’s still come on his skin. Mostly on his stomach. “Pipa?” he says.

Gonzalo touches Dries’ stomach, runs his fingertips along the come drying on his skin. “Did you…” 

“Next time,” Dries says, soft and deliberate, “When I suck your dick, I want you to come on my face.” 

“ _Fuck_ , Dries,” Gonzalo says. 

Dries smiles. “But,” he says, “That’s actually getting kind of gross.” It really is. Kind of sticky and itchy. It’s unpleasant. “So, uh, maybe…”

Gonzalo shakes his head a little. “Right.” He cleans Dries’ stomach and chest with quick, efficient strokes. The wet cloth is a bit of shock but it’s not cold. It’s actually pleasantly warm. 

When he’s done with Dries’ stomach, he hesitates, then he presses the cloth to the inside of Dries’ thigh. The pain from the scratches had settled into a dull ache but the press of Gonzalo’s fingers makes the pain bloom into something sharper and Dries shudders. “You,” Gonzalo says, as hesitant as Dries has ever heard him, “You really liked that, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dries says. 

Gonzalo drags the cloth along his thigh. The nubby texture of the cloth rubs against the scratches in a way that makes Dries want to squirm. “I don’t think I could,” Gonzalo says when he reaches Dries’ knee. Dries waits for him to finish his sentence but he doesn’t he just drags the cloth back along Dries’ thigh. 

“What?” Dries says. Gonzalo shrugs and switches the cloth to Dries’ other thigh. “C’mon, Pipa,” Dries says, poking his shoulder, “What?” 

Gonzalo looks away from him and says, “Don’t think I could, you know, do that to you. Hurt you.”

Dries almost says _they’re just scratches_ but there’s something about the soft, hesitance in Gonzalo’s voice that stops him. “Okay,” he says.

Gonzalo looks back at him. “Okay?”

Dries shrugs. “Yeah.” He smiles. “I can think of lots of other things to do with you.”

Gonzalo smiles. “Like sucking my dick?”

Dries laughs a little. “Yeah, man.”

“Okay,” Gonzalo says and reaches around Dries to drop the washcloth in the sink. Then he bends down and starts rummaging around in the cabinet under the sink. When he straightens up, he has a tube of something vaguely medicinal looking in his hand. 

“What’s that?”

Gonzalo wrinkles his nose. “Don’t remember exactly but one of the trainers gave it to me after that match awhile back. The one where i got all scraped up, remember?”

“Yeah,” Dries says. 

“I thought…” Gonzalo says, running his fingers along Dries’ thigh. 

Dries thinks it’s a lot of fuss but he says, “Okay.”

Gonzalo’s slow and diligent with it, rubbing it onto every scratch. He even puts some on Dries’ wrist. Dries doesn’t mind. It makes Gonzalo happy and he likes the slow, sweep on Gonzalo’s fingers along his skin. 

Gonzalo’s just finishing with his wrist when Marek comes into the bathroom. He’s carrying a bottle of water and a bottle of orange juice. He unscrews the lids and puts them down on the sink behind Dries. “Is Pipita taking good care of you?” he says.

“The best,” Dries says and Gonzalo smiles and ducks his head.

“Good,” Marek says with a smile. He reaches over and ruffles Dries’ hair. “Drink those,” he says, waving his hands at the bottles, “And make sure Pipita has some.” Then he flips down the toilet lid and sits. 

“Thanks,” Dries says. He starts with the water. He drinks half the bottle in no time. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he started to drink. He holds the bottle out to Gonzalo. “Pipa?”

Gonzalo looks down at his hands and wrinkles his nose. His hands are still sticky with the creme. Dries smiles. “Open up, Pipa.” Gonzalo rolls his eyes but he opens his mouth. Dries only gets a little water on his face. Maybe a little on his shirt. 

He drops the empty bottle on the floor and grabs the juice. When he offer the juice to Gonzalo, though, Gonzalo says. “No. I’m not having you get juice fucking all over me.”

Marek laughs and Gonzalo flips him off. “Aw,” Dries says, “C’mon, Pipa, I’ll be careful.”

Gonzalo flips him off too and reaches over to wipe his hands off on one of the towels. “Give it to me,” he says, holding out his hand. Dries hands it over.

Dries is distracted from watching Gonzalo gulp juice by the tearing sound of a bandage being removed. He looks over at Marek. Marek’s slowly peeling the bandage off his arm. “Are you allowed to do that?” Dries asks. 

Marek glances at him then goes back to pulling. “Yeah,” he says, “You only have to leave it on for a few hours.” When he gets the bandage off, he crumples it up and tosses it into the trash. 

“Can I see?” Dries says.

“Sure.” Marek stands up and holds out his arm. It takes Dries a second to pick out the new tattoo amongst Marek’s older ones. It looks nice. The skin around the new lines of ink is red, like it’s sunburned. Dries almost wants to touch it, to trace the new lines of ink. But he’s not sure you’re supposed to do that, or, if Marek would even let him.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks.

Marek shrugs his shoulders. “Kind of.” 

“Is there,” Dries says, “I mean, is it all right? Don’t you have to like put something on it or something?” 

Marek smiles a little. “It’s fine. I just have to wash it and put some stuff on it.” 

“Oh,” Dries, “Okay. I, uh, I’ll move, yeah? And you can, you know…” 

“Thanks,” Marek says. 

Dries can get down of the counter himself. He can. But when he leans forward and pushes up on his hands, Gonzalo frowns and reaches out to put his hands on Dries’ waist. Dries is already moving, though, so Gonzalo half lifts him and he half kind of stumbles down off the counter. He crashes right into Gonzalo’s chest. Gonzalo curls his arms around him and steadies him. “What the fuck, Dries?” 

“Shut up,” Dries says into Gonzalo’s chest, “Could’ve gotten myself down.” 

“Uh-huh,” Gonzalo says. 

Dries considers objecting some more but he’s too comfortable cradled against Gonzalo’s chest to bother. Gonzalo is solid and warm. Dries is tired and it’s nice to just lean against Gonzalo. He muffles a yawn against Gonzalo’s chest. Gonzalo pats his back. “Tired?” 

“Mmm,” Dries says, nuzzling against Gonzalo’s chest, “Yeah.” 

“You want to stay here?” Gonzalo says. He’s rubbing his hand up and down Dries’ back. It’s nice.

“Yeah,” Dries says. He could almost go to sleep right here. “Want to stay with you,” he says, “And Marek too.” 

Gonzalo laughs a little. “Okay. Marek can stay too if he wants.” 

Dries looks back at Marek. “Marek?” 

Marek smiles. “Yeah. Okay.” He reaches over and ruffles Dries’ hair. “Go. Let Pipita put you to bed.” 

“You too,” Dries says.

“In a minute,” Marek says, “Go with Pipita.” 

“‘kay,” Dries says and lets Gonzalo tug him out of the bathroom and up the stairs to bed.

Gonzalo gets in bed with him and lets Dries curl up against him. Dries closes his eyes and listens to Gonzalo breathe but he doesn’t fall asleep until Marek comes to bed and presses close against his back.

***

Dries wakes up to the sound of someone snoring. He scrubs his hand across his face then opens his eyes. It’s dim in Gonzalo’s bedroom. The only light is from the sun slipping in through the gaps in the curtains. He looks toward the sound of snoring. It’s Gonzalo. He’s splayed, face down, across the bed, face tilted away from Dries.

Dries looks over to his other side. Marek’s sitting up, propped against the headboard. He’s looking down at his phone. Dries rolls over onto his side. His body aches but not unpleasantly. “Hey, Marek,” he says.

Marek looks up from his phone. He smiles a little. “Good morning, Dries.”

Dries pushes himself up onto his elbow and glances back at Gonzalo. “Has he been doing that all night?”

Marek laughs. “Yeah,” he says, “Maybe. I don’t know.” 

Dries wrinkles his nose. “He’s really fucking loud.” 

“Uh-huh,” Marek says then shrugs, “But I’m not waking him up to tell him.” 

Dries pushes himself up so he’s sitting next to Marek. “Yeah,” he says, “Good call.” 

They sit together quietly (well, except for Gonzalo’s snoring) for a little while. Then Marek leans into Dries, pressing their shoulders together, and says, “How are you doing, Dries?” 

Dries is fine. Still not really awake but he’s good. “M’fine.” 

Marek makes a little, humming sound. He slides his hand under the covers and rests it on Dries’ thigh. He runs his fingertips along the scratches. “I mean, with—“ He presses lightly against the scratches. Dries can just feel the scratches. There’s a dull, persistent soreness to them. When Marek presses down, there’s a thrum of something, not quite pain, but something like it. He doesn’t mind it. Kind of likes it. “Are you—“ Marek says, “We’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Dries says, “‘Course we are.” 

“Okay,” Marek says. He pauses then adds, “Have you, uh, ever done anything like that before?”

“What?” Dries says, even though he knows what, “Fucked around with guys? Had a threesome? Yes and yes.”

Marek presses on the scratches. Harder than before. “ _Dries_ ,” he says. 

“Not,” Dries says, and it comes out low and shuddery, “Not really.” 

“Hmm,” Marek says. He strokes his fingers along Dries’ thigh. Dries can still feel where he’d pressed his fingertips, like Marek’s fingerprints have been stamped into his skin. “You liked it?” Marek says. It’s a question that’s not really a question. 

Marek presses down again and this time he uses his nails. And there’s a sharp, sparking pain layered over the ache. Dries feels like his skin is humming. He wants— “I—“ he says, “ _Marek_. More. P-press harder. _Marek_.”

“Dries,” Marek says and his voice shudders. He lets go of Dries.

And maybe Dries shouldn’t have asked. Maybe he shouldn’t have— “Marek?” 

“Dries,” Marek says and his voice is steady now. He pushes the covers down a little and says, “Dries, c’mere.”

Marek’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Dries is still naked. “S’not fair,” Dries says, “I’m still the only one that’s naked.”

Marek laughs a little. “It’s a good look for you.” 

“It could be a good look for you too,” Dries says.

Marek laughs and pinches Dries’ thigh. “Uh-huh. C’mere.” 

Dries doesn’t mean to. He puts his hand on Marek’s arm, just to steady himself, so he can settle himself across Marek’s thighs. But his hand slips. It slides down Marek’s arm, fingers skating across the lines of ink on Marek’s skin, and jams into the bend of Marek’s elbow. Marek flinches and sucks in a shuddering breath. “Oh,” Dries says, “ _Shit_ , Marek.” 

He smooths his fingers along Marek’s skin, along the fresh lines of ink there, without thinking, meaning to soothe. And Marek says, “Dries. _Dries_ ,” his voice breaking on Dries’ name, his eyes fluttering closed. 

Dries stops. Fingertips still pressed to Marek’s skin. “Marek,” he says, “I—“ And he waits for Marek to tell him to stop. To move his hand. 

Marek opens his eyes and curls his hand around Dries’ thigh. He digs his thumb hard into Dries’ thigh. And it’s Dries’ turn to shudder, to suck in a quick, gasping breath. 

“I,” Dries says, when he gets his breath back, “I want—“ He traces his fingertips along the new lines of ink Marek’s skin. Then Marek wraps his hand around his dick and he forgets when he wants. Because all he can want - all that there is - is the warm, rough stroking of Marek’s hand along his dick and the buzzing, aching thrum that radiates out under his skin from where Marek’s fingers are dug into his thigh. 

He bites his lip. Lets the sharp bite of pain focus him a little. He presses down on the thick, sweeping curve of ink just above Marek’s elbow. Marek’s hand stutters on Dries’ dick and he sighs, shuddery and broken. “I want,” Dries says, “To get one. Would you—“ He pushes his fingertips along Marek’s skin, pressing down as he goes, following the line of the ink. Marek makes low, moaning sound. “Would you come with me?” 

Marek licks his lips. “Yeah,” he says, “ _Dries_ , I—“ Dries drags his fingers back along his arm. “ _Fuck_ ,” Marek says, “Dries, _Dries_ , please.” 

Dries curls his hand around Marek’s elbow. Then he tugs Marek’s pants down just enough to get at his dick. He gets his hand around it then he presses his thumb down against the inside of Marek’s elbow. And Marek makes a rough, shuddery sound. “You,” Dries says, “like this too, you—“ 

Marek smiles but he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t really need to. Dries leans in, slow, because last time Marek turned away, and kisses the up-turned curve of his mouth. And Marek opens his mouth for him and kisses him back. 

Marek bites Dries’ lower lip then sucks it into his mouth and soothes the sting with his tongue. And when Dries returns the favor, bites at Marek’s mouth, Marek moans and the sound hums along Dries’ lips. And, when Marek bites at his mouth again, it’s hard enough to draw blood and the sharp twang of the pain makes Dries shudder. He pushes his tongue into Marek’s mouth, slicks the metallic, bright taste of blood across Marek’s tongue. They kiss and kiss until Dries’ mouth feels swollen and bruised, and he has to pull away because it’s _too much._

Dries rests his forehead against Marek’s and breathes against his mouth. Marek digs his nails hard into Dries’ skin and moves his hand faster on Dries’ dick. And when Dries comes it’s like sparks exploding under his skin. 

Then, his skin still humming, he lines his fingertips up along the curve of Marek’s elbow and presses down. And Marek says his name, “ _Dries_ ,” rough and broken, and Dries jerks him rough and fast until Marek comes. He says Dries’ name again almost too soft to hear. So Dries presses his mouth back to Marek’s so he can feel Marek’s mouth shaped around his name. 

Marek kisses him, slow and almost sweet, and Dries wants to curl into him and press his face against his neck. Because, now, everything’s quiet and he just wants to curl into Marek and close his eyes.

Marek runs his hand up and down Dries’ back and then, after awhile, he says, “Pipita’s awake.” 

Dries straightens up. “He is?” He looks over. Marek’s right. Gonzalo is awake. He has one arm propped under his head and the other is under the covers. He smiles when Dries looks over at him. “Pipa,” Dries says, “You’re awake.” 

“Well,” Gonzalo says, still smiling, “some fucking inconsiderate bastards woke me up.”

Dries looks him over. “Whatever,” he says, “Doesn’t look like you minded too much. Liked what you saw, didn’t you?”

“Nah,” Gonzalo says, and he looks like he’s trying not to smile but it isn’t really working, “Not really.” 

“You’re such a liar,” Dries says, “You’ve been laying over there jerking off.” 

Marek makes a choked sound, like he’s trying not to laugh. Gonzalo shakes his head and says, “Uh-uh.” But he’s got this shit-eating grin on his face and it’s like a dare to prove him wrong. Dries can never resist that kind of thing.

“Such a fucking liar,” Dries says. He leans over and tugs the covers down. But Gonzalo rolls onto his side and Dries kind of gets tangled in the covers and topples over. 

He ends up half on top of Gonzalo with his legs hopelessly tangled in the covers. Marek’s not even trying not to laugh anymore. Dries squirms one arm out from under himself and flips him off. Marek just laughs harder. 

Gonzalo’s laughing too. His whole body shaking with it. Dries pokes the nearest part of him, his shoulder as it turns out, and says, “Fuck you, shut up.” 

Gonzalo flops onto his back which, really, should’ve dislodged Dries, but he clings and ends up sprawled across Gonzalo’s chest. Gonzalo’s still laughing. Dries props himself up on one hand then cups Gonzalo’s dick with his other hand. Gonzalo stops laughing. “Such a liar,” Dries says. 

Gonzalo smiles a little and shrugs. “Maybe.” 

“Fuck you, _maybe_ ,” Dries says and rubs his hand along Gonzalo’s dick. Gonzalo makes a soft, choked sound and pushes up against Dries’ hand. “You got off on it, didn’t you?” Dries says, working his hand into Gonzalo’s boxers and curling his hand around his dick, “Watching me and Marek.” 

“ _Mmm,_ ,” Gonzalo says, “Dries, _fuck_ , c’mon.”

Dries smiles and doesn’t move his hand. “Tell, me. C’mon, Pipa, did you like it?”

Gonzalo takes a slow, shuddering breath. “Yeah, I did,” he says, “Okay?”

Dries leans down and kisses him. He means for it to be quick but Gonzalo curls his hand along the back of his neck and holds him in place until he opens his mouth. The kiss is slow and open and Dries’ mouth still aches from the scrape of Marek’s teeth but still he just wants more. When Gonzalo lets him go, he can’t quite remember what he was going to say next. He licks his lips. “ _Hmm,_ ” he says, “So, you want what I gave Marek. You want me to…” He strokes Gonzalo’s dick. 

“I,” Gonzalo says, arching up a little, as Dries drags his hand up and down his dick, “ _mmm_ , thought you were going to suck my dick this time.” 

Dries smiles. “Yeah,” he says, “Okay. We can do that.” He lets go of Gonzalo’s dick - Gonzalo makes a gratifying, whining sound - and works his hand out of his boxers. He squirms his way down, kicking the covers down the bed, until he’s in a good spot. 

Dries hooks his fingers into the waistband of Gonzalo’s boxers and tugs them down. Gonzalo lifts his hips to help him. Dries pulls his boxers just past his balls then takes a moment just to look at Gonzalo’s dick. He likes the look of it, thick and flushed, the head already wet with pre-come. He curls his hand around the base and lifts it up. He licks across the head, just to get the taste of Gonzalo along his tongue. “ _Dries_ , fuck, c’mon,” Gonzalo says.

And, someday, Dries is going to go slow, he’s going to tease and torment Gonzalo with his mouth until he begs, but not today. He takes Gonzalo in his mouth and pushes down until his lips brush against his fingers. His mouth, already sore, aches from the way Gonzalo’s dick stretches it. He doesn’t mind, though, not when he has the taste of Gonzalo saturating his mouth, not when Gonzalo says his name on a low, shuddering sigh. 

Gonzalo pets him while he sucks him. Tangles his fingers in Dries’ hair. Drags his fingertips along the nape of Dries’ neck. And he talks to him in gasping, murmuring Spanish that hums along Dries skin like another touch. 

Gonzalo comes before Dries has really gotten going. He pushes up into Dries’ mouth - and Dries lets him - and says Dries’ name, once, twice, all in a rush. Dries does his best to swallow. He keeps his mouth on Gonzalo until he slumps down and is still. Then he lifts his head to look up at Gonzalo. 

Gonzalo smiles, slow and open. “C’mere,” he says, soft and slurred, “ _Mmm,_ Dries, c’mere.” Dries goes. And Gonzalo drags him down into a kiss. Dries opens his mouth for him and pushes his tongue into Gonzalo’s mouth. Slicks the remnants of Gonzalo’s come across his tongue. Gonzalo makes a pleased, humming sound and they kiss until Dries can’t breathe. 

When they come apart, Gonzalo gathers Dries against him and Dries lets him. He lays his head on Gonzalo’s chest. He rubs his cheek against Gonzalo’s t-shirt and says, “You promised to get naked.” 

Gonzalo laughs a little. “Sorry,” he says, he doesn’t sound even a little bit sorry, “But, hey, you got to suck my dick, so there’s that.” 

Dries pinches him. “Next time you fucking better get naked.”

“Ouch, _fuck_ , Dries,” Gonzalo says. Dries pinches him again. “Fine. Fine. Next time I promise to get naked.”

“You better,” Dries says, “It’s not fair. You didn’t get naked for me. Marek wouldn’t get naked for me.” He pushes himself up a little and looks over to where Marek was sitting. Marek’s gone. 

Dries looks back at Gonzalo. “Where’d Marek go?”

Gonzalo shrugs. “Dunno. Downstairs maybe?”

“Oh,” Dries says, slumping a little. He pauses then adds. “You—you and Marek, you, uh—“ He stops. He’s not really sure what he’s trying to say - to ask. 

“Me and Marek, what?” Gonzalo says.

Dries shrugs. “You, uh, you don’t…” 

“Ah,” Gonzalo says, “Uh, no. Marek’s my friend, uh, and all, but I don’t really want to fuck him or, you know, whatever.”

“Huh,” Dries says, then, “I do.” 

Gonzalo laughs a little. “Okay.” 

“Yeah?” Dries says.

Gonzalo smiles. “Yeah.” 

Dries rests his head back on Gonzalo’s chest. “You want to fuck me, though, right?”

Gonzalo laughs. “ _Christ_ , Dries. Yes. I want to fuck you.” 

“That’s good,” Dries says, “Let’s do that next time.” 

Gonzalo ruffles his hair. “Whatever you want.” Dries likes the sound of that. 

They lay there for awhile. Dries thinks about closing his eyes, maybe going back to sleep. But he keeps wondering where Marek went. “Do you think,” he says, “that Marek’s making breakfast or something?” 

Gonzalo snorts. “Marek? Cooking? I don’t fucking think so.” Gonzalo has a point.

“What about coffee?” Dries says, “Think he’s making coffee?”

“Christ,” Gonzalo says, “I don’t know.”

Dries pushes up. “I kind of want coffee.” 

Gonzalo smiles a little. “Well,” he says, “Guess we better go find out if Marek’s made any.” 

When they finally get downstairs, it takes awhile to find pants of Gonzalo’s that actually fit Dries, they find Marek sitting at the kitchen table, drinking orange juice, and looking at his phone. 

There’s no coffee. 

Marek looks up when they come in and smiles. Dries slumps down into the chair across from Marek and says, “You didn’t make coffee.” 

Marek shrugs. “Sorry, Pipita’s fancy machine is too complicated for me.”

Dries looks over at Gonzalo. “Coffee, Pipa, please.” 

Gonzalo smiles. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay.” Dries blows him a kiss and Gonzalo rolls his eyes.

Gonzalo starts fiddling with his fancy coffee machine and Dries looks back at Marek. 

“You left,” he says, after a moment.

Marek shrugs. “Yeah.” 

“You could have stayed,” Dries says.

“I know,” Marek says.

“I don’t,” Dries says, “I mean, it’s not just Pipa that I, uh— I mean, it’s you too.” 

He’s not sure he’s really making sense but Marek smiles a little and says, “Okay.”

Dries smiles back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Marek says. Dries leans over the table and kisses him. He tastes bright and sharp from the orange juice and he kisses Dries back. 

Gonzalo sets something down on the table with a clatter and Dries rocks back into his chair. There are three cups of coffee on the table, steam curling up from them in looping spirals. Gonzalo pushes one towards Marek and one towards Dries. Then he picks up the last one and comes and sits down next to Dries. 

“So,” Gonzalo says, “We’re good?”

Dries picks up his coffee and takes a sip. It’s really good coffee. “Yeah,” he says. 

Marek reaches over and pulls his cup of coffee closer. “Yeah,” he says with a smile, “All good.” 

Gonzalo leans into Dries’ shoulder and picks up his coffee. “That’s good.” 

Dries takes another sip of coffee and leans into Gonzalo’s shoulder. He waits a moment, takes another sip of coffee, then says, “So, who’s going to make me breakfast?”

“ _Christ_ ,” Gonzalo says, “We’ll go out. I—“ He pauses. “ _We_ will buy you breakfast. Right, Marek?” 

Marek shrugs. “Sure,” he says, with a smile, “We’ll buy you breakfast.” 

Dries smiles. “Okay. Sounds good.”

***

_Beauty is skin deep. A tattoo goes all the way to the bone.  
Vince Hemingson_

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Probably you shouldn’t do to a new tattoo what Dries does to Marek’s tattoo.


End file.
